Shuffle, Ball, Change
by Fiction101
Summary: "Of all the cars, in all the parking lots, in all the world, she had to crash into mine." Seth's life after Breaking Dawn started with a crash.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I Fiction 101 do not own the stories Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse or Breaking Dawn or the characters within them. Each book is a works of art in its own way and I appreciate them, but I have no ownership rights to them. "Moving at the speed of life" is a quote from one of my favourite movies, Crash (from 2004) I don't own it so don't sue me, please.**

**_Shuffle, Ball, Change_**

P R O L O G U E

"Shuffle. Ball. Change. Her turn."

"Shuffle. Ball. Change. His turn."

"Shuffle. Ball. Change. Her turn."

"Shuffle. Ball. Change. His turn."

"Moving at the speed of life, she and I were destined to cross paths eventually."

"Everything changes with a crash."

--_Seth & Colby: Crash, 2016_


	2. Chapter One: First Position

**Disclaimer:**** I Fiction 101 do not own the stories Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse or Breaking Dawn or the characters within them. Each book is a works of art in its own way and I appreciate them, but I have no ownership rights to them. Clackamas High School is in fact a real school however, my portrayal of said school is in no way an accurate reflection I am simply borrowing the name, I don't own it. Clackamas is also real, and it is also being changed for the purpose of this story. I don't own Pope's Essay on Man either.**

**Just so you know:**

**- This story is set in the year 2016, 10 years after Renesmee's birth in Breaking Dawn. (Making Seth 25 years old).**

**- Pictures of how I imagine Seth and Colby are on my profile.**

**- High-fives and ass-slaps to Lucas McDrake for being a fantabulous beta and Krum Cake for being the queen of Seth-fiction! You guys ROCK!**

_**Shuffle, Ball, Change**_

_HER TURN_

_Chapter One: First Position_

My mouth was dry. My heart was pounding. My hands were sweating. What the hell had I gotten myself into? I wasn't a stranger to the principal's office; its off-white walls and deep burgundy carpeted floor were almost as recognizable to me as my own bedroom. I was seated in my usual seat with my adoptive parents on either side of me where the residential Crazy Lady—Alberta McQueen, the principal of Clackamas High School—was badmouthing me for my "shenanigans". It would have been just another Friday if it weren't for the police sirens and the boys in blue. I was officially in the most trouble that I had _ever_ been in in my entire life—all seventeen years of it.

Imagine my parents surprise when they received a phone call from the oh-so-charming principal, and found out that their darling daughter had to be escorted back onto campus by the police for fleeing the scene of a crime. Mild misdemeanour; I think not.

"Well, Miss Cohen, let's have it. What do you have to say for yourself?" Crazy Lady asked once she had finished telling her detailed version of what had happened—which was funny because I knew that she wasn't anywhere near the scene of the crime, she'd been in the teacher's lounge ogling Man Candy—Bruce, her young, French assistant—which is where she spent every lunch hour.

I cleared my throat. "It was an accident."

"An accident. Really Miss Cohen?" Crazy Lady looked down the bridge of her crocked nose, appraising me as she spoke. "You're usually much more imaginative than that."

She was right, I usually was. I'm a liar—a damn good one at that, she knew it, I knew it, my parents knew it and in the past when I'd been busted I would spin a pretty convincing tale. However, this was one of the rare occasions where I got to tell the truth.

"Yes, an accident." I could feel Officer Smith's—the police officer who had apprehended me—eyes boring holes into the back of my head from where he stood by the door, making this situation that much more nerve-wracking.

"So, Miss Cohen, you're telling us," Crazy Lady used one of her age spotted hands to make a sweeping gesture around the room, "that your getting into your car, putting the keys into the ignition, starting said car, and leaving the scene of the crime, were all involuntary actions—all 'accidents'." Crazy Lady was a woman with many annoying qualities but the one that irked me the most was her frequent use of air-quotes.

"The keys were already in the ignition when I got back in my car." I couldn't resist pointing it out; my inner smartass would have hated me if I didn't. As expected, no one other than me seemed amused so I quickly continued, "No, leaving wasn't an accident, but the other part was."

"And by 'the other part' you are referring to hitting someone's car—a car that belongs to the school's newest teacher. Is that what you mean?"

I bit my lip. I didn't know that I'd hit a _teacher's_ car. "Yes."

"_If_ it was an accident, then why did you flee, Miss Cohen?" With the amount of time I spent in Crazy Lady's office you'd think we'd be on a first name basis by now.

"I don't know, I guess I panicked. I hit the car and freaked out. Bolting was sort of…instinctual."

"Well, Miss Cohen, your instincts lead you to commit a felony."

"What happens now?" My adoptive mother, Natasha, asked before I could retort with a surly remark that wouldn't have helped my circumstances.

Crazy Lady folded her hands and rested her chin on top of them, "Officer Smith, do you have the answer to that one?"

"It all depends on whether or not the victim decides to press charges. Usually license suspension and/or imprisonment are consequences for a hit-and-run." He paused briefly to look down at my parents before continuing, "However, due to the fact that Colby-Lyn is underage community service or a few months in a juvenile detention centre are both possibilities."

I was speechless. Yeah, sure, I was a self-proclaimed badass but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that any of my antics would land me in juvie, let alone the one that had been completely unintentional. I sat in silence alongside my parents as the words _juvenile detention_ hung in the air.

"Expulsion is also an option," Crazy Lady added after a minute.

Her words, however, had the opposite effect. "_Expulsion_?"

"Yes, Miss Cohen, expulsion."

"What the hell, McQueen, you can't do that!" Clackamas High School –also known as the school without the middle class—was the best high school in the United States not to mention the only high school in Clackamas. It was designed for the _crème de la crème_; you had to be either rich, or a genius to attend. Being expelled could only mean one thing—being blacklisted. No other school would want me and I could certainly kiss whatever chance I had at getting into Julliard—or any college for that matter—goodbye.

"You've forced my hand, with your poor attendance, constant acts of delinquency and now a criminal record. I'm sorry, but what choice do I have?" She didn't sound sorry at all.

"I don't believe this McQueen; you'd really expel me for denting that crappy thing! I hit a ninety-seven Ford Thunderbird, not the freaking Batmobile! Honestly, I think I did the teacher a favor. In fact, the dude should be kissing my—"

"Colby!" my father, Archibald hissed, "Enough."

"But Dad—"

"Enough," he repeated more gently this time as he turned to face Crazy Lady. "Alberta, with all due respect I'd appreciate it if you'd stop goading my daughter." Crazy Lady opened her mouth as if she were about to respond but Archie quickly cut her off, "And correct me if I'm wrong but I believe the police officer said it was the victims decision on whether or not charges would be pressed, not yours."

"You are correct, it's not my decision it's the victims. Mr. Clearwater?" Her pale green eyes shifted from our direction to the left.

I followed her gaze and my jaw nearly dropped. It's hard to believe that I didn't noticed that there was someone seated in the corner of Crazy Lady's office, especially someone who looked the way this guy did—I seriously doubted that he had ever gone unnoticed one day in his life. The man was unquestionably gorgeous; the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Judging by the length of his legs and torso he was at least six-three maybe even six-four, he was definitely younger than most teachers at Clackamas High, mid-twenties at most and of Native American decent with jet black hair styled into a faux hawk, and dark brown eyes. _Hello McDreamy, hello McSteamy have you met McBabe? _

McBabe met my stare head on. Dark brown eyes on hazel. His gaze wasn't appraising like mine had been, it was different—trance-like. The only word that I could come up with to describe the look he was giving me was _intense_.

"Mr. Clearwater," the sound of Crazy Lady's voice seemed to have drawn him out of whatever stupor he was in. He blinked a few times then turned to face her and I followed suit. "Will you be pressing charges against Miss Cohen?"

Our eyes locked again and I couldn't help but wonder what he saw, a pathetic frightened child looking at him with pleading puppy-dog eyes, or, just another spoiled rich kid who'd gotten herself into trouble one too many times? I quickly looked away but my eyes were back on him just as fast once he spoke.

"No," McBabe had a rich, husky voice, which was to be expected for someone of his stature.

I raised an eyebrow. "No?" For some reason—perhaps it was the bump on my head the size of Russia (the only injury that I had received from the incident)—my brain was having great difficulty grasping what the combination of those two letters meant.

McBabe's answering smile was huge, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that contrasted beautifully with his skin. "No."

"Well," Crazy Lady began smugly, "there's your answer Miss Cohen. No." It took her a minute to grasp what McBabe's answer actually meant. "N-no? Are you sure Mr. Clearwater?"

"Yeah, I was a teenager once too."

"Yes, that is true Mr. Clearwater, but your car must have suffered at least twelve hundred dollars worth of damage. Right, Officer Smith?"

There was not a doubt in my mind that it would cost a pretty penny to fix the SUV shaped dent that I had made in McBabe's car.

The police officer briefly consulted one of the many pieces of paper on his clipboard before answering. "Yes, that's about right, but please keep in mind that that number is only an estimate, it could cost more."

He chuckled, "I don't think that will be a problem. I know a guy. He works for peanuts."

Crazy Lady leaned forward dropping her voice, "Seth, if you are worried about your popularity amongst the student body I can assure you that pressing charges will not cost you any 'cool points'. In fact, it will do just the opposite generating an equilibrium of respect and apprehension. Don't you want that?" Desperation oozed off of every word, and I'm not going to lie, I enjoyed every moment.

McBabe mimicked her, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "Miss McQueen, I'm not worried about the opinions of high school students—well, most high school students." The last part was so muted that I almost didn't catch it.

Defeated, Crazy Lady leaned back in her seat and sighed, "Thank you for your time Officer Smith, but it does not look as if we'll be in need of your services today. You may also leave Mr. Clearwater." She turned to briefly stare out the window next to her, which both McBabe and Officer Smith took as their cue to leave, but not before the latter gave me a stern glance. Through the barely cracked blinds of the frost coated window I could see that there was a fresh blanket of snow covering the campus, one more reminder that we were in early January. Crazy Lady heaved another sigh before turning to face me again, "Miss Cohen, am I correct in assuming that it isn't necessary for me to tell you how fortunate you are that Mr. Clearwater has decided not to press charges?"

"Yes."

"Good, I'm glad that we're finally on the same page. Now, as punishment—"

_Son-of-a—_"McQueen, I don't think we're reading the same book. _Punishment_?"

"Yes, Miss Cohen, punishment. You did not expect to go unpunished, did you?"

In all honesty, I did. "But he said he isn't going to press charges."

"I am aware of what Mr. Clearwater has decided," she snapped, "I am also aware of the fact that leaving school grounds during class without the permission of a parent or guardian to engage in acts of _hooliganism_ is grounds for punishment."

Well, that was new, being busted twice in one day. A new record. I held in my very cliché "grasping for straws" remark and let the bitter bitch continue.

* * *

I didn't think my day could get any worse until I entered the AP English classroom and saw who was standing at the blackboard. Legs for days, tanned skin, unbelievably attractive. Miss Landers'—who had to take a leave of absence due to her unwed pregnancy— replacement was McBabe. Normally, having a super hot teacher is a good thing but these were not normal circumstances; I hit his car, he marks my work. The odds were not in my favor.

As soon as I crossed the threshold all eyes were on me—including McBabe's. A slow welcoming grin spread across his face. "Hey, there."

My stomach did a little somersault, "Hey."

McBabe studied me for a moment longer before giving his head a shake and returning to the blackboard. "Please take your uh…"

"Seat?" I supplied.

"Yeah, seat."

There were only two sounds in the room, the heels of my boots clicking against the floor as I made my way towards the back of the classroom and the chalk grazing the board from McBabe's frantic and seemingly distracted scribbles.

"There she is: 'America's Most Wanted,'" Liam Ashford—my on-again, off-again boyfriend—whispered once I was seated. "I heard about the fender-bender."

Of course he had, along with three quarters of the student body. The commonality between gossip and a wild fire is that they both spread—freaking fast. Small town plus gossip was a no-brainer. Whenever something happened, everyone knew.

"So, what was the verdict this time CC?"

My punishment—suspension from the school dance team; The Cavalettes until further notice, and two weeks of detention to be served to McBabe—seemed like a slap on the wrist compared to juvie. "Nothing I can't handle." I paused briefly when I saw his infamous pervy smirk. "Don't."

"That's what she said," Liam boomed.

"God, Liam," I groaned, "with the wit of a prepubescent teen—"

"That's what she said jokes. Dude, seriously?" McBabe interrupted. He had finished writing on the board and was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest with an amused expression on his face. "Are we back in oh-eight?" This earned him a few laughs. "Well, since you're so interested in the past, why don't you be my volunteer. Pope. _An Essay on Man_. Epistle I." He gestured to the board where he had written:

_Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never Is, but always to be blest: the soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, rests and expatiates in a life to come._

"What do you think Alexander Pope meant by that?"

Liam leaned back in his chair so it was standing on its back legs and laced his hands together behind his head. "No clue Sir." Every class has that one bright, shiny, promising student that seems like the eighth wonder of the world. He's not ours. Liam's family—like many of the wealthier families with children that attend Clackamas High School—are generous contributors to the school's bank account. A new library here, a new swimming pool there, can go a long way. Don't be fooled, people who say that they can't be bought are liars; everyone has a price. You just have to figure out what their going rate is.

"Okay, how about your friend?" McBabe motioned towards me.

"Me?" I asked. I wouldn't classify Liam and me as friends. Things had never actually been friendly between us; we were either at each other's throats or we had our tongues shoved down them. The major source of strain on our relationship status was that we couldn't see things the same way: the ladies loved Liam and he didn't _see_ the problem with loving them back. I on the other hand had.

McBabe tossed a piece of chalk into the air and caught it. "Yeah, what do you suppose Pope meant?"

"Mankind always hopes for the best no matter what the circumstances are. But, he _implies_ that life's a bitch until the day you die."

"That's a cynical way of seeing it."

I shrugged, slumping back into my seat. Icepack on head, head on forearm, and forearm on desk. I guess I'm a bit of a cynic.

"Okay." He smiled; sort of sadly for a minute then returned to addressing the class. "That's the beauty of literature guys, it's up for interpretation." McBabe walked up and down the aisles of desks as he spoke. His movements were very fluid, especially for such a big guy. "Pope's a brilliant writer, right? Some even regard him as the best poet of the eighteenth century, yet here we are still trying to figure out what the hell he was trying to tell us—I mean really tell us! Wild, right?" By this time he was seated at his own desk, looking as if he could use a cigarette.

I had never seen someone get so passionate over English before. He made me listen not because I had to but because I _wanted _to. A quick eye sweep of the room told me that I wasn't the only one who was taken in by the gorgeousness that is McBabe; every girl in the room seemed to be attempting to have eye-sex with him. Attempting and failing, miserably.

In no time at all the bell rang signalling the end of the day. I remained seated as the other people in my class filed out of the room, murmuring quick 'goodbye's and 'great job sir's on their way to begin their weekends. _Bastards_! I glared at their backs as they shuffled out. I only stopped when I felt someone's eyes on me.

"Hey."

"Hey." Surprisingly, my voice was just as airy as his.

Dark brown met hazel for the umpteenth time. One minute passed, then two, then three.

McBabe was the first to look away, picking up his 'May The Force Be With You' coffee mug and gingerly taking a sip from it. "Did you have um, a question... about Pope?"

I cleared my throat. "No. Crazy Lady—er I mean Principle McQueen says I have to serve two weeks of detention under your supervision."

He took another sip from his mug. "Oh. I see."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"You know what?" he said while rearranging all of the loose papers on his desk into a single pile. "Let's start that on Monday."

"Seriously?" Apparently this teacher was not only smart and hot as hell; he had a heart of gold as well. High-fives and ass-slaps to him.

"Yeah." He grinned his huge grin again revealing practically all thirty-two of his ivory teeth.

I couldn't help but beam back. "Cool, thanks." I tugged on my black wool coat as I made my way to the door.

"Oh, Colby-Lyn—"

Here we go; he was going to chew me out for hitting his car. I spun around to face him, only to end up staring down at his leather boots, "Look, I'm really sorry, okay. It was a total accident. My dad will pay for the repairs—"

"Colby—"

"—You won't have to come up with a dime."

"Colby—"

Even though we had just met I didn't like the idea of him harbouring any feelings of negativity towards me. "Fine, if you're going to yell at me, let's get it over with—"

"Colby—"

"—because I have better things to do with my time."

It wasn't until I looked up that I noticed he was holding my keys in his hand and was patiently waiting for me to stop rambling. "You uh were about to leave without these."

My face became an inferno. "Oh."

He took a few steps forward letting my keys dangle by the keychain before dropping them into my palm with another award winning smile plastered on his face. "Have a good weekend. TGIF, right?"

"Yeah…thanks."

High-fives and ass-slaps to me for being a complete idiot. TGI-_freaking_-F.

* * *

**AN: So that was the first chapter. Hopefully it was to everyone's liking.**


	3. Chapter Two: Feather Step

_**Shuffle, Ball, Change.**_

_HIS TURN_

_Chapter Two: Feather Step_

No words truer than those of Charles Dickens have ever been written: _It was the best of times; it was the worst of times..._ That dude seriously knew what he was talking about.

It sucks that some people can predict when change is coming into their life—or have a psychic vampire around that can tell them when they should be expecting a visit from change. Sadly, I'm not one of these people. Change has a way of just sneaking up behind me, tapping me on the shoulder and then sucker punching me in the face over and over again. It happened when I found out I was a shape-shifter, it happened the day my father, Harry Clearwater, died from a heart attack, and it happened again when my mother, Sue, eloped with Charlie Swan in Vegas only two years after my father's death. Once, twice, thrice. One would think I'd be used change by now, or, that change would get tired of screwing with me and find some one else to mess with. Nope. Not a chance. I'm not that smart, and change isn't that nice.

The changes in my life weren't necessarily a bad thing. Far from it actually. Becoming a shape-shifter was the embodiment of awesomeness, my dad is now in a better place (or at least I'd like to think he is), and my mom marrying Charlie expanded my family. All good, but all equally unexpected.

However, it was the change that had come in the form of a hit-and-run that was by far the most unexpected occurrence in my life.

Of course I knew that I had no control over it, none of us did. Imprinting's like a tornado—unpredictable, enthralling, and turns every aspect of your life upside down and inside out. My world had definitely changed. I think Dorothy summed imprinting up in a single sentence: _Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. _Everything had gone from black and white to colour, sounds were louder, and gravity had left the building the moment I laid eyes on her, replaced only by the indescribable beauty that's Colby-Lyn Cohen. In one day—no one millisecond she'd become the single reason for my existence. My other half. My better half. She stood out amongst the sea of students clad in their dark blazers and burgundy checkered skirts with her hazel—mainly green with light brown flecks—eyes, and deep chestnut hair. What can I say, I was instantly enamored.

In all honesty, I didn't think I would ever imprint but then again, neither did any of the others. Imprinting was supposed to be rare. Key words: _supposed to be._ To me imprinting seemed like wearing black nail polish; everyone and their grandma was doing it. First Sam and Jared, then Quil, Paul, and Jake, then Collin shortly after that. So many of us had been caught off guard. Sam being drawn to my cousin while dating my sister was completely unexpected but so was Quil imprinting on a toddler, Jake imprinting on an infant and Collin imprinting on another man. If imprinting was a slot machine we'd all be broke right now. Two sevens and a cherry. Meet the packs of La Push: the worlds crappiest gamblers.

_Shit. Shit! SHIT!_

My soul mate just had to be an underage student. _My_ underage student. Friggin' jailbait. Its official, someone up there both adores and hates me.

"Frak." I swore as soon as I opened the door of Chez Wolf—the tack-house on the Cullens' latest property in Clackamas, Oregon that Jacob and I shared. It was a pretty decent house, nothing compared to the main house where the Cullens lived, but nice enough, especially for two guys who would be happy sleeping in a corner as long as they had food to eat and a place to piss. The tack-house had a huge kitchen, an awesome game room, four bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms among other things. All in all, a pretty sweet pad.

I had moved to Clackamas right after Christmas when Carlisle Cullen, un-dead doctor extraordinaire, announced that he had gotten me a job right out of teachers college, teaching at one of the most prestigious high schools in the United States, a grade A opportunity…one that I would now have to give up. What choice did I have?

Frak. My. Life.

"Fuck. The word's fuck." Jake corrected between swallowing a mouthful of what I assumed were Oreos and chugging milk straight from the carton. He was sitting on the leather couch with his feet on the coffee table in front of the plasma screen watching a re-run of CSI or something. "Sue isn't here kid; you can use grown-up words now." Jake snorted. "Seriously, bro, you need to drop the un-cool mama's boy act. It's getting stale." Shortly after moving in I had learnt that neither Balttlestar Galactica nor the four-letter cuss word of the future appealed to him.

I leapt over the back of the couch landing one cushion away from him, grabbed the bag of cookies out of his hand with my left and flipped him off with my right all in one fluid motion.

Frak you Jacob, I'm way cool.

"Dude, you lost all rights to deem what's cool from what's not the moment you became a little punk who sits at home alone on a Friday night having milk and cookies for a snack." I shoved my hand into the bag of Oreos and pulled out a tasty treat. "L-ooo-ser."

Jake barked a laugh. Loudly. "This coming from the guy who just poached my cookies." He laughed again this one even more condescending than the first. "So, why are _you_ here instead of out with some girl partying like a rock star?"

Now twenty-five, I was a far cry away from that socially awkward kid with the "pure" mind as Edward once described it. Puppies do turn into dogs after all. I was ten years older meaning I had gained ten years of experience. It wasn't like I was La Push's man-whore—that title belonged to Brady and Brady alone (the little punk hooked up with every female in a ten mile radius)—but I wasn't a saint either. I was known for having a lady or two or five. But, without a doubt I knew my Playboy-loving, booty hound days were over the second hazel met brown for the first time.

I shrugged. "Not in the mood tonight, or any other night for that matter."

"You, 'Seth-Don't-Hate-The-Playa-Hate-The-Game-Clearwater', aren't in the mood to go out?" Giving myself that nickname was one drunken faux pas that I would never live down. Jake and the others had made sure of that.

"Yeah. So?"

"Why?"

I rolled my eyes. It was the world's easiest question. "Colby-Lyn." My answer was straight forward and to the point.

I watched as Jake's face morphed from one of complete confusion to understanding. "You imprinted." He gave my shoulder a punch of congratulations.

"Yeah." I said while returning the gesture. "She's everything that I could ever want, Jake. Smart, witty, beautiful. Oh, and her smile. I can't find the appropriate words to describe her smile. It's like Christmas, New Years, and the Fourth of July smashed," I pounded my fist into my hand to emphasize my point, "together to create a super holiday. A very bright, shiny, joyful holiday."

"And…"

"And what?"

"Seeing as how she's so perfect that she probably walks on water in her spare time and has cartoon birds braid her hair in the morning, why'd you waltz in here all doom and gloom?"

The goofy love struck grin that I had plastered on my face disappeared. "It's complicated."

He arched one of his thick eyebrows, a challenging gesture, one that said "try me". If I were to look up the definition of complicated I'd probably see a picture of Jake and Ness because imprinting on your quasi ex's, half vampire daughter is anything but simple. In fact it's a galaxy and a few bus stops away from simple.

"She's younger."

"How much younger?"

"A lot younger," I groaned. "Colby-Lyn's one of my students."

"Oh. Okay. One of your students." He seemed to be processing the scenario as he spoke. "That's not too bad."

"Not too bad? Jake, last time I checked hooking up with a student was _illegal_."

If I didn't have his attention before I most certainly had it now. His face was priceless. "Dude. You didn't. Please tell me you did not hook up with a minor."

"Of course I didn't, but I wanted to. I mean, I _still _want to." I ran my hands through my hair, destroying my faux hawk in the process. "I'm going to hell—straight to hell. It's that simple."

"You're not going to hell, man. You're overreacting."

"Dude, if I don't quit I'll wind up in jail!" I continued as if he hadn't said anything.

"You're not quitting your job Seth; you've worked too long and too hard to get it."

"Then what the hell are my options, Yoda? Stick around and creep the shit out of the poor girl everyday by constantly mooning over her? Let her know that I'm in love with her and then lend her my cell phone when she decides to call the cops? Ask her to prom? I think I'll pass."

"You're forgetting that you're not the first person to imprint on someone that's a lot younger than you. Do the names Nessie and Claire ring any bells? Quil and I have both been where you are. In fact we still are."

"No you aren't." His eyebrow shot up again to challenge my statement. "This is different. Even if I put aside the sheer wrongness of the fact that I'm her teacher and she's my student for a second, our situations are still like chalk and cheese. Claire's what, thirteen? And Ness is even younger. They're both children, but Colby-Lyn's seventeen. She's not a kid, but at the same time she's not an adult either. That alone complicates things. I don't see her as a little sister and the law says I can't see her as anything else. You two have no idea what it's like to be _in_ love with your imprints." I held up my hand to stop his objection. "Yeah sure you love them but you're not _in_ love with them. Yet. They're too young for either of you to feel that way."

There was a brief moment of silence while Jake studied his hands as if they held the answers to all the world's unanswered questions. "Okay, let's say you quit. What then? Sweep it under the rug? You walk away and wait until she's legal?"

"Yeah. I guess." I didn't even sound convincing to myself.

"Bull. You couldn't walk away from her anymore than I could walk away from Nessie. Don't you think better men than you have tried?" My mind wandered to Sam's situation with Emily and my sister. I'm sure he tried to overlook the imprint too. "There's a bond. One that we're just not built strong enough to ignore."

My face fell into my hands. "Shit. Okay. What do I do then?"

"Man up and deal, kid. No one said finding your soul mate was easy but no one said that you had to become instant lovers either. So what if you find her a few notches above attractive? Ignore it. Be her mentor, her friend, or whatever she needs for now. When she turns eighteen and is no longer sitting at the front of the classroom—"

"Back." I corrected. "She sits at the back of the room."

"Does it really matter where she plants her ass?" he asked exasperatedly. "When she turns eighteen and is no longer sitting at the _back_ of the classroom you can take it from there." You know your life's pretty messed up when a guy with a milk-mustache starts making sense.

"Man up," I repeated. "I can do that."

"Good." Jake grinned as he grabbed my head and gave me a noogie. "And if you can't I heard that the forecast for tomorrow is cloudy with a chance of balls. Maybe, just maybe, you'll get lucky and find a pair."

I flipped him off again. "Or, I could ask Ness to lend me yours."

"Son of a—" He made a swipe for me but I easily dodged it.

"By the way, I need a favour."

"Brother, mother, psychologist. What next? Does he need me to shit a rainbow too?" Jake mumbled, turning his gaze to one of the many overpriced ceiling fans that decorated Chez Wolf. "What'cha need, kid?"

In spite of the fact that we may have teased the crap out of each other, when it came down to it we were brothers in every way that really mattered. We always had each others backs.

I lead him outside to the dented piece of scrap formerly known as my car. "She made one hell of a first impression, right?"

Jake let out a low whistle. "Wow. Your imprint did that?"

"Yep." How messed up is it that I was proud?

"What does she drive? A friggin' tank?"

"Looks like it." I watched as he continued to assess my car, making mental notes of what needed to be fixed. A new door and rear spoiler. And of course a paint job—but it needed that before the accident.

"Dammit. I'm going to need back-up on this one." He ran a hand over his face, "Blondie, get out here now! … Please."

Rose was outside in a matter of seconds with the rest of the Cullens in tow.

Jake nudged me. "I called and she came running, looks like I've trained her well."

Rose scowled, but ignored him. "Edward said _you_ wanted to see me Seth." Unlike Jake, Rose and I got along pretty well. Why? I'm not sure, but my guess would be because once you've spent most of your teenage years amongst two moody, menstrual women dealing with anything else is a breeze.

"Yeah. Could you take a look at my car? I got into a little accident."

"Little," Emmett scoffed. "It looks like Ye Old Rust Bucket got into a fight with a MacK Truck. A fatal fight."

Frak him. I had complete faith that between Jake and Rose my car would be up and running in no time.

"Scrap it." Rose said simply once she had finished gauging the damage. "Honestly, it isn't worth the parts."

It took me a full minute to process her words."Huh? You're joking right?"

"As much as I hate agreeing with El Diablo, you really should consider getting a new car." Jake gave my shoulder a firm squeeze. "Sorry, Kid."

"There's this sweet new ride that's coming out, I'd bet you'd love it." Emmett said enthusiastically.

Nessie placed her hand on my cheek using her gift to show me a sleek black Audi. I had to admit the ex-rug rat had grown into a ten year-old—possessing the physical attributes of a late teen—with impeccable taste.

At a loss for words, I looked to my step-sister for help and sure enough she came through. "Guys, his father left him that car. It has sentimental value."

"Exactly," I agreed. "There are a lot of memories attached this baby." I reached out and patted my car affectionately causing the bumper to fall onto the driveway in a nosy clatter.

"Seth," Esme began in her motherly tone, "perhaps it is time to look into getting a new car. This one, as lovely as it is, is nearly twenty years-old."

"I—"

"Get a new car Seth." Et tu Edward? And then there were none. Everyone had turned against us—the dynamic duo: Seth and the Rust Bucket, the Rust Bucket and Seth.

"I'm not scrapping the Rust Bucket." _I'm not._ I repeated in my head to emphasize how adamant I was about it.

"No one's saying that you have to. I'm sure Rose and Jake will put aside their differences to fix your car, but as a keepsake, _not_ for driving." Edward held my gaze for a moment.

A keepsake. A monument. Something I could see but never truly touch. I got the feeling that he was not just referring to my car. "I guess I can live with that."

"Good." Alice chirped as she jabbed her bony elbow into my side playfully. "What's with you people and outdated cars?"

"Well," Bella beamed, "he is my little brother. It runs in the family. Right, Seth?"

I half-heartedly slung a lanky arm around her stone form and nodded.

Of all the cars in all the parking lots in all the world, Colby-Lyn had to crash into mine.

_Here lies Ye Old Rust Bucket. Rest in peace._


	4. Chapter Three: Sous Sous

**Disclaimer:**** I Fiction 101 do not own the stories Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse or Breaking Dawn or the characters within them. Clackamas High School is in fact a real school however, my portrayal of said school is in no way an accurate reflection I am simply borrowing the name, I don't own it. Clackamas is also real and it is also being changed for the purpose of this story. And since we are actively discussing things that I don't own I also have no ownership rights to**_**The Lady of Shallot, Little Orphan Annie or Magic Mike **_**either.**

**A/N:**

So this took a lot longer than I ever anticipated to get out which is why I am posting it without it being read by my beta. Please forgive me for any mistakes and feel free to point them out so I can make any necessary changes.

I really want to thank those of you who have stuck with me over the course of a three-year hiatus. You people seriously rock! Especially, those of you who continued to review, favourite and PM me.

Gah, I've missed this place!

* * *

_**Shuffle, Ball, Change**_

_HER TURN_

_Chapter Three: _Sous Sous

_Mr. Clearwater,_

_ I'm sorry._

_-Colby Cohen._

When it comes to lacklustre apologies mine take the cake. Crappy cards attached to an overpriced muffin basket or some other edible treat that I'd ordered online were sort of my trademark.

My best friend, Lillian Ashford, looked at me then back at the order form I'd printed then back at me in a dramatic fashion that could only be described as uniquely Lily Ashford. "That's it?" She asked, waving the leaflet in my face, "That's all you've got to say to the man whose car you totalled?"

"Totalled? I barely touched it. If I hadn't gotten to his car, a gentle summer's breeze would have." I snapped taking the order form out of her hand and tossing it back into my locker where it belonged. "Besides, it's a three-inch card not a billboard, Lily. Not even William Shakespeare himself could work with that space restriction."

"I'm pretty sure he'd do better than a pathetic 'I'm sorry'," She countered, flipping her fishtail braid over her shoulder.

"Good-eth for Shakespeare," I mumbled dismissively.

The thing is I suck at apologies and over the span of seventeen years I haven't gotten any better. In fact, the only notable difference that has arisen in that span of time is now I use my own credit card to pay for the basket and the 's' in 'sorry' isn't backwards.

It had never been easy for me to admit that I was wrong and it was even harder for me to say I was sorry, yet this complete stranger—a teacher no less—had me guilt-ridden and apologizing repeatedly.

"Although," Lily went on to say, "I guess the wording isn't really all that important anyway, as long as you're sorry cosmic balance will be restored. All wrongs will be righted."

I eyed her through the decretive mirror that was hanging in my locker, "Uh-huh."

"And you really could use the good karma or whatever. Especially, after the series of unfortunate events that seems to have befallen upon you. One: you get kicked off the dance team. Two: you get paired with _her_." She held up perfectly manicured fingers as she counted them off. "I mean what other reason could there be for Miss Kwon pairing you with _her_, other than the universe being out of whack?" I didn't know a three letter word could hold so much disgust.

People were hung over, I was exhausted and Lily was busy worrying about the delicate social infrastructure that was crumbling at her expensively clad feet. Much like the plague another Monday at CHS was upon us.

The introduction of the parenting assignment was Clackamas High Schools latest attempt at deterring teens from losing their V-cards. The Sex-Ed teacher, Miss Kwon, who had not too long ago blushed and stuttered her way through the topic of conception, had assigned each student an occupation, an animatronic baby and a partner to represent "the real world" meaning: a society with a varied population of people from a wide range of socio-economic backgrounds. With an uneven distribution of males and females I, much to my best friend's dismay, had been paired with The Mute— Renesmee Cullen, the least pale of The Alabaster Clones.

"Hmm… I don't know, Lily. Aliens? The Men in Black? _Alphabetical order_?" I closed my locker, shrugging, "Or you could be right. I mean, it's not a secret that karma's a bitch."

"Speaking of bitches," Lily began, setting her pale green eyes on me, "must you be such a huge one?"

"Ah. The million dollar question. Well," I replied, taking my day planner out of my messenger bag and making a show of paroosing through it, "it is a day that ends in 'y' so…I'd have to say, yes, Meredith Vieira. Final answer."

"Cute CC." She commented, crossing her arms over her chest, "Crack jokes when I'm being completely serious."

More often than not, Lily's shallowness made it difficult for people to take her seriously and despite the fact that she and I had been friends since the third grade; even I had to admit that I'd come across birdbaths that possess more depth. Head of the school dance team, daughter of former Hollywood royalty, fashionesta, and more Lillian Marjorie Ashford had fallen into the Clackamas High clique trap the moment she first walked through the huge wooden doors as a freshman.

There were two very distinct groups at Clackamas High School the "haves" and the "have not's". Your parents either had celebrity and wealth or they didn't. You could either afford the best or you couldn't. You had beauty—natural or manmade—or you didn't. If you fell into the "haves" category you were popular, if you fell into the "have not's" then you weren't. It was as simple as that.

Then there's always an exception to every rule. Case in point: The Alabaster Clones. They didn't really fit into any class which goes without saying, is very problematic in high school.

The Alabaster Clones had moved to Clackamas the autumn before last and were still as much of a mystery to the student body as the day they had arrived. The good people of Clackamas knew what they wanted us to know: the head of the family, Carlisle Cullen was a doctor, his perfect wife Esme was a homemaker and their herd of adopted children, Edward, his biological sister Renesmee, Emmett, Alice, Rosalie Hale, her twin brother Jasper and Edward's live-in girlfriend, Isabella Swan, were a cross between Abercrombie & Fitch models and Einstein. Other than that they were the unknown; one of the only secrets in this small town.

The status quo: The Clones kept to themselves and the rest of us kept it that way. That was until Kwon decided to shake things up a bit.

Lily pushed herself off the locker she was leaning on and began to make her way down the crowded hallway toward her next class.

Walking next to Lily was like walking next to a model, which is what she was, an aspiring model. With her stature and good looks it would have been a crying shame if she was aspiring to be anything else and she was completely aware of that fact. She treated the school's linoleum tiled hallways like European catwalks.

"What does anyone really know about them, aside from the rumours?" She asked after a minute of walking. "I'm not trying to be 'that girl'; you know the kind that believes everything she hears but..." Lily trailed off suggestively.

Of course there were rumours. Some good, some… not so good. They varied from tame stories like The Clones being Ivy League bound leaving them with little to no time to socialize with the masses to the scandalous like them being a part of some super-hot cult headed by Mrs. Cullen who got her jollies from stealing the offspring of the ridiculously good-looking in the hopes that they too would turn out beautiful and could be used in the ultimate sacrifice in order to obtain eternal youth.

If the latter was true, so far Mrs. Cullen had been spot-on with her baby-snatching.

I shrugged, attempting a look of indifference, "This is high school, Lily, there are rumours floating around this place about everyone. Present company included."

According to the CHS gossip mill Lily, much like her twin brother, Liam, was guilty of having an unquenchable thirst for life and an enormous appetite for the opposite sex. While I, on the other hand had simply been deemed five feet and three inches of undeniable snark.

"My point exactly!" Lily exclaimed, "Every rumour is based on the truth." She wasn't wrong.

I stifled a yawn for what felt like the millionth time that day, "It's only for a week."

"So you're not bothered by this little arrangement?"

"Honestly," I began, just as The Clones rounded the corner; paired off, walking perfectly synchronized and making the school uniform look like something out of the trendiest fashion magazine.

"It could be worse." I decided after The Mute-who was cradling our assignment in one hand and a series of binders in the other- briefly paused her stride to send a timid smile my way, "I could have been paired with your brother."

Lily seemed to mull over the alternative before declaring, "Liam can be an ass."

"Agreed."

* * *

By the time I arrived to my final class for the day, McBabe was standing in front of the blackboard scanning a piece of paper as he waited for the last bit of idle gossip to lull. My eyes roamed over his form; he looked dishevelled, like he hadn't yet had his morning coffee. Tie loosely knotted around his neck, face graced with stubble, faux hawk slightly askew and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

My heart was pounding and I wasn't entirely sure it was solely from the power walk to the classroom. Apprehension radiated from my core.

_What the hell's wrong with me?_ The man was about to teach an English class not flail around on a stripper pole doing an exotic dance routine from _Magic Mike_. There was no reason for me to feel so…_excited_.

"Poetry, guys," McBabe announced while underlining the same word etched in his messy scrawl on the board as soon as the bell had rung, "is the topic that we'll continue to delve into."

"Before there was vlogging, texting, sexting, and whatever else you kids are into these days, poetry was _the_ way to communicate. I know this may be hard to believe, but a long time ago people used to woo with words stimulating the mind, body and soul in the process.

"Last class was just a taste of the poetic genius that the human mind is capable of. Oh, and guys, by 'poetic genius' I don't mean the 'roses-are-red-violets-are-blue' crap that you jotted down in your mother's day cards back in elementary school. I'm referring to works of art like those written by William Shakespeare and Maya Angelou."

"Now, without further ado" McBabe picked a thick book up off of his desk, "Please turn to Alfred Tennyson's _The Lady of Shallot _on page forty-one. It's one of my personal favourites," he added as an afterthought. He flipped to one of the several pages he had marked with an array of coloured tabs.

"_On either side the river lie  
Long fields of barley and of rye,  
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;  
And thro' the field the road runs by  
To many-tower'd Camelot;  
And up and down the people go,  
Gazing where the lilies blow  
Round an island there below,  
The island of Shalott__;"_

He walked through the aisles of desks while he read; his eyes fixed on the page.

"_And moving thro' a mirror clear  
That hangs before her all the year,  
Shadows of the world appear.  
There she sees the highway near  
Winding down to Camelot:  
There the river eddy whirls,  
And there the surly village-churls,  
And the red cloaks of market girls,  
Pass onward from Shallot."_

His rich voice never faltered.

"_His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;  
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;  
From underneath his helmet flow'd  
His coal-black curls as on he rode,  
As he rode down to Camelot.  
From the bank and from the river  
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,  
"Tirra lirra," by the river  
Sang Sir Lancelot."_

McBabe snapped the book shut, reciting the last stanza from memory.

"_Who is this? and what is here?  
And in the lighted palace near  
Died the sound of royal cheer;  
And they cross'd themselves for fear,  
All the knights at Camelot:  
But Lancelot mused a little space;  
He said, "'She has a lovely face;  
God in his mercy lend her grace,  
The Lady of Shallot.'"_

His dark brown eyes drifted from face to face, stopping when they landed on me.

It may have been just an illusion caused by my exhaustion, but he seemed to perk up at the sight of me, like he'd taken a double shot of espresso or something. A coy smirk played on my lips. I felt different when he looked at me; prettier, smarter, sexier, sassier, happier…complete—no that would be ridiculous…for two people who'd just met to—

The sound of the door clicking shut as Liam sauntered into view caught both my and McBabe's attention.

"S'up? Sorry I'm late, Sir. It won't happen again." Grinning, Liam made a crossing motion over his heart to emphasize his point. "I promise."

"S'ok." McBabe grunted, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Uh, sorry guys, I seem to have lost my place. What-what was I talking about?"

Robert Knight, an enthusiastic red-headed boy in the front row raised his hand and waited patiently for McBabe to call on him. "Mr. Clearwater, I believe you left off with the closing lines of the poem, where Lancelot acknowledges the Lady's beauty," his head dropped, and he read,

"_He said, "'She has a lovely face;  
God in his mercy lend her grace,  
The Lady of Shallot.'""_

Robert's boyish voice butchered the lines that McBabe eloquently read not too long ago.

"Yeah. Thanks." After returning to the front of the classroom it only took McBabe a few seconds to regain his bearings, "Now, as I was saying or, about to say rather, _The Lady of Shallot_ is a particularly interesting piece to look at because it is about the conflict between art and life." He threw himself back into the lecture more animated than before, using his hands to talk. "The poem captures the conflicting emotions of an artist's _yearning_ for intimacy—a life outside of oneness, and his…or her reservations about whether such a commitment is even possible for an individual dedicated to their art."

Liam slid into the seat next to mine, "What's shaking, Lil' Orphan Annie?"

"Liam, you are repugnant," I sighed impatiently. "There are nineteen other students in this class. Go aggravate one of them."

"Hmm, it looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of me." When he realized that the only response he was going to receive was the oh-so subtle rise of my middle finger his way he continued, "I guess you don't want to know what Daddy Warbucks got you." Liam smirked, holding a Starbucks cup out in my direction.

"Lily told you to bring me coffee, didn't she?" I asked inhaling the sweet aroma of the brew. There were definitely hints of hazelnut.

He shrugged. "Sissy-Pooh may have texted me something about you needing another latte."

Contrary to popular belief, when Liam wasn't busy being an abominable asshole, there were moments when his actions could be considered somewhere in the realm of charming.

With his trademark smirk back in place, Liam gave me an appraising look. "Well I'll be damned, that latte did the trick. You're almost pretty again."

However, those moments are few and far between.

"Gee," I deadpanned between quick sips, "thanks."

I returned my attention back to the front of the room where, even though he was scribbling on the blackboard, I swear McBabe was watching our exchange through the corner of his eye.

"Each stanza has nine lines with the rhyming scheme A-A-A-A-B-C-C-C-B..."

There was just something captivating about McBabe. I could listen to him for hours. Hell, put the man on mute and I'd still be enthralled. His body told its own story that, in a way, was similar to _Gone with the Wind_, _Pride and Prejudice_, or _The Last Picture Show_— a timeless, New York Times Bestseller kind of thing.

If the number of students—mostly female—that remained rooted in their seats at the end of the period was any indication; apparently, I wasn't the only one that thought so.

"That was the bell guys," McBabe informed with a soft chuckle. "You're free."

My eyes scanned the now emptying classroom. The only student to remain after the chorus of 'bye's was The Not-So-Amazing Grace, who—with her kilt rolled and breast hoisted—made her way to McBabe's desk.

"Hi."

"Hello?"

"That—that poem was really, _really_ good, Mr. Clearwater."

Smiling, McBabe propped himself up against the piece of wooden furniture. "Thank you, but I do believe Tennyson deserves the credit. He is the one that wrote it after all."

"Yeah," Not-So agreed, twirling her tawny hair around her finger. "He's the shit."

"Yes, well," he coughed nervously, obviously growing uncomfortable with Not-So's ridiculously apparent flirting. "Have a good evening." I could only imagine the looks she was sending his way.

"You too, Mr. C. I'll see you tomorrow." She wiggled her fingers at him in a makeshift wave.

I couldn't blame Not-So for being drawn to McBabe. The man put the "sex-on-legs" in the phrase sex-on-legs.

He grumbled something quietly once we were alone, tiredly running a hand over his faux hawk. "Hey," McBabe greeted a bit louder.

I removed the tip of the pen that I hadn't realized I'd been chewing on from my mouth, "Uh. Hey," for some reason my voice came out in a breathy tone. I quickly cleared my throat, "Hi...I um have detention...with you," I reminded.

At that instant I couldn't help but wonder if idiocy was contagious because sitting beside Liam was the only excuse I could come up with for how stupid I was acting as of late.

"I know." He didn't make eye contact but his full lips parted to reveal his ultra white teeth, "I haven't forgotten."

"Of course you didn't." I mumbled under my breath. I'm the girl who crashed into his car. That's not something that is easily forgotten.

Some things can look horrible on a Friday and by Monday all is well. Then there are those things that no matter how many days that you place between the incident and yourself still seem just as bleak as the day it occurred. Hitting someone's car was one of those things.

"So," McBabe began conversationally, "You sent me a muffin basket..."

The corners of my lips twitched upward. "I know. I haven't forgotten," I mimicked.

He seemed to find my mockery amusing because he let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a snort. It was a chuckle-snort hybrid. A chortle. "Well, thank you."

"Don't mention it."

His eyes looked levelly into mine and we quickly lapsed into a unified silence.

I'd had my fair share of detentions but not a single one was quite like this. The atmosphere had never been so…intimate but at the same time nerve-wracking and new. The teacher had never been so intense let alone so very attractive. Everything about the situation was enticing, inviting, invigorating, and a complete adrenaline rush.

My heart began to race again; however, I quickly dismissed it as just me being nervous about the whole hit-and-run situation.

It was McBabe's turn to clear his throat. "So...Do you know how to make a blonde laugh on a Wednesday?" He asked out of the blue.

I shook my head. "No, not really."

"Tell her a joke on a Monday." He promptly continued misreading my silence as not understanding the joke. "You see, blondes are supposedly stupid hence the need for the two-day delay in the comprehension process…"

A knowing smirk appeared on my face.

"But I'm sure you already figured that out on your own."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"It was just a really crappy joke, right?"

"Yeah." I admitted, sheepishly.

"I guess I can cross comedian off my list of potential backup careers. You know, in case this whole teaching thing doesn't pan out. That joke was absolute shit." He chortled again, "Honestly, blonde jokes are my roommate's thing. I'm not really sure why I even told it."

I had a hunch that the joke had a little something to do with No-So.

He paused in thought, "Actually, that's a lie. I told it because I'm nervous…it's my first detention."

"Ever?" I probed, genuinely intrigued.

"Ever." He confirmed.

Another smile naturally found its way onto my face. This man was indisputably adorkable. "I'm glad I could be your first—er, detention." My cheeks reddened, "I'm glad I could be your first detention."

Damn you Liam!

* * *

**A/N:**

I'm not entirely happy with how this turned out but I really wanted to post something for you guys. There is an alternaive ending to this chapter (which can be found below) let me know which ending you enjoyed more—or hated less.

In regards to The Magic Mike reference: Can't you picture our Seth stripping his way through teachers college? Well that or having a "respectable" job...or earning some sort of scholarship but where would the fun be in that?

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**ALTERNATIVE ENDING**

"I guess I can cross comedian off my list of potential backup careers. You know, in case this whole teaching thing doesn't pan out. That joke was absolute shit." He chortled again, "Honestly, blonde jokes are my roommate's thing. I'm not really sure why I even told it."

I had a hunch that the joke had a little something to do with No-So.

"I don't think you'll need a backup plan." I commented offhandedly, "Teaching English is definitely something you're good at."

The smile I received in response for such an honest—admittedly brazen—statement was like a kid on fucking Christmas morning. "Thank you, Colby."

"Don't mention it."


End file.
